


What Keeps Us Alive

by ofshadowsandstars



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Mental Anguish, Star Trek Beyond Spoilers, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 23:02:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7660429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofshadowsandstars/pseuds/ofshadowsandstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The definition of life is somewhat relative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Keeps Us Alive

**“Fear of death is** **_what keeps us alive_ ** **.”**

Had he his wits about him, Spock would have replied that it was not fear that motivated species to carry on so much as the basic, primal instinct to survive. The body wants to exist; to contradict it would be unwise, impractical, and illogical. But he was delirious in a way that would have made his mother smile brightly enough to power a planet for weeks, and therefore more human than ever he had been (except for one occasion), and so he said nothing akin to his standard rebuttals.

How many life-threatening situations had Spock been in up to this point? He could no longer recall. It all melted together into a blur of phaser fire, explosions, adrenaline, and, in the end, the gold of the transporter beam, taking him back to safety.

And the captain. Captain Kirk. James Tiberius Kirk. _ Jim _ .

Jim was always there. Beside him in a fight, waiting with wide eyes and heavy breaths as Spock appeared on the transporter pad. Running towards him, on a singular mission to extract his  ~~ friend ~~ first officer from harm. And often their roles were switched, leaving Spock to be the one ready to burn a world and a people to the ground just to get him back.

And there was the unique instance of Spock nearly taking a human  ~~? ~~ life with his bare hands as if it would give back what was taken from him. 

Before the incident with Khan, Spock had only ‘seen red’ twice in his life. The first came when he was a child defending his mother. The second was when he was a son in mourning, threatening to be consumed by grief. A fact that was taken advantage of by a cocky but brilliant Starfleet cadet made first officer in private in a man’s last moments as captain of a starship.

But as Spock chased Khan through the streets of San Francisco, as he fought him on a moving aircraft, as he tried to beat the life out of him, his vision had not been red. No, this was not anger. His vision was normal - normal, but enhanced. Everything was crystal clear and functioning above average, with the exception of the sharp, burning pain in his lower right abdomen. A red-hot burn, urging him on, reminding him of the light leaving Jim’s eyes any time he dared falter. Nyota had screamed his name, begging, and he had disregarded her, caring only for revenge. Driven by the need to make his foe feel the pain surging through him.

**“He’s our only** **_chance to save Kirk_ ** **!”**

And he had. His blood had brought Spock’s  ~~friend best friend~~ captain back to life. It had taken two weeks for Kirk to wake up, but he woke up. 

The two weeks spent on Earth, without Jim or anything to do but write a report, had been hell. The crew had all gone on shore leave, using their time off to recuperate - in every sense of the word - with the exception of Doctor McCoy, who refused to leave Kirk’s side. And with the Doctor acting as sentinel, Spock could never get more than a few minutes alone with Jim. A pale, unconscious, barely breathing Jim. Sometimes he would spend his entire visit watching the monitor, eyes fixed on the beat of his heart, the rate at which it pumped blood in and out of living veins. Spock had shed tears for Jim Kirk, had all but held him while he died, and had gone out to avenge him with a biblical might. 

His mother would have liked the story. She would have cried for him, for the captain, but she would have smiled at the end. Love conquers all, she would have said, though logic puts up a good fight. It had taken thirty years and the loss of his planet, but Spock finally understood his mother.         

In the time between visits, Spock occupied himself as best he could, be it by meditating, reading, playing chess with the computer (it was much more logical than Jim had ever been. He missed the shock of being beaten yet again), or anything else fathomable. One day, he even went to the botanical gardens in the city. Sulu had been there with Chekov and another member of the bridge crew - an Orion girl; ensign. He had given Mister Sulu a wave from a distance, but dared not disturb them. 

“He should be waking up soon.”

Those were the first words McCoy had spoken directly to Spock in two weeks, and he said nothing else. He made no comment when Spock had replaced him as Kirk’s stoic guardian. Anything for more sleep, Spock guessed. Vulcans needed less sleep than humans, and there was no time that Spock had been thankful for it like he had been in those two weeks. Every time he closed his eyes, all that awaited him were images of death. His mother falling into an abyss, his planet collapsing, the conflicting emotions of a dying admiral, and the captain, separated from him by glass. Face flushed, breath ragged, hands shaking, eyes brimming with tears, illuminated to an impossible blue by the redness, the cost of emotion.

Once, as a very young child, Spock had run into his mother’s arms when she returned from a particularly long trip off-world. His father had reprimanded him severely, by both human and Vulcan standards, and Spock had avoided physical contact of any sort for months (five months, two weeks, four days, sixteen hours, ten minutes, thirty-eight seconds). Though they had tried to hide it, those few months had been a source of tension for his parents, and Spock was sure that his mother brought it up even long after he had gone off to Starfleet. She, much like Jim, had been a prime example of human stubbornness. 

Spock hadn’t intended to be wearing a uniform when Jim came to, but his civilian attire had been unfortunately stained by an exhausted nurse and a cup of coffee. However, the particular hospital wing in which Jim was sleeping was - technically - Starfleet property, so he hardly looked out of place with the crisp grey uniform Spock had been fortunate enough to have at hand. It added a sort of formality to his and the captain’s reunion, he thought, but passing comments from McCoy at later times said otherwise.

**“You are welcome,** **_Jim._ ** **”**

But that was the past. Right now, he was stranded on an uncharted planet with a serious injury and no clue whether his crew was alive. Whether the  _ Enterprise  _ was in space or on the ground, or whether or not it had been obliterated. The illogical, delusional  ~~ human ~~ part of Spock thought that he would know if she was gone, if  _ he _ was gone. It was folly, of course. Spock wasn’t bonded with Jim, much less the  _ Enterprise _ . He had no way of knowing whether or not they were alive.

So, in his delirious state, Spock cried and smiled and laughed, letting out his human side as if it would heal his wounds or bring Jim back. Foolish and naive. 

Hope.

But they kept moving, needing to find a way to stay alive. And as Spock stumbled over rocks, he saw drones coming his way, and knew what would be next. He said his final words of endearment and held his head up high. As the drones surrounded Spock and the doctor, he felt a strange bubbling in his stomach. He looked down and saw the telltale gold light of a beaming and he wanted to scream. Was this how it would end? He would die with a mockery of being saved, with an illusion of hope in front of his -

Oh.

He was in a transporter room. Unfamiliar, yet endlessly familiar. Mister Scott was at the computer, working the controls, Chekov at his side.

And there was Jim. Waiting with wide eyes and heavy breaths, reaching out to him as soon as he was materialized. 

“Of course it’s you,” he said with a laugh, blue eyes shining, “You always find your way back to me.”

Spock only moved closer to Jim, not trusting himself to fully speak. He protested when McCoy suggested getting him to sickbay, but made no resistance as Jim all but dragged him away to get medical care.

“What would I do without you?” Jim had asked. He ended up asking it several times that day, and each time Spock felt that same burning in his lower right abdomen. Guilt, perhaps, as well as his injury.

_ Fear of death is what keeps us alive,  _ McCoy had said. Spock had to disagree, to a certain extent. As he helped James Kirk wipe the blood off his face and rebandage his wounds in the aftermath of the battle, blue eyes would meet his and Spock would think,  _ this is what keeps me alive _ .

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! 
> 
> I was thinking of doing a pseudo sequel to this from Kirk's perspective. We'll see.


End file.
